Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts

Saturday, December 19, 2009

"Final In Over Time"

I am honored to participate in a flourishing exercise of "30 in 30". This is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create thirty poems in thirty days in anyway way, shape, or form, no strenuous and strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, through January 13th, 2010. (Twitter hashtag #30in30)


Here's #5 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, TX


If one time wasn't enough
The heart dropped yet another close one
This time
No time left
Back and forth
Tied up
Close the whole time, now
Trailing
About a yard away
Sweat drips
Hands clench
It's in motion
Last ditch pass
One attempt
And
She
Deflected...
Me.

Game
Ends.

Love conquers.



© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

Saturday, October 10, 2009

(Im)perfect 10

The first 10 days of October. My sister would be approaching another year towards 30 (after me, of course), I would be missing the Capoeira workshop with the gang in Austin (9th-11th), and these days featured a dream that came to fruition about someone that's been on my mind since my break up with my ex.

These days approached so rapidly. I thought I would be able to accept the usual denial to talk or see the children from her, considering they weren't of my flesh, but of my heart, and we were split up. Then today happened. On a special day for the oldest child...a day after my sister's special day. She is celebrating two days out on he night as her fun as we speak.

So how would this present pan out for me, even though it's not my solar return?

I went to work, not expecting anything out of the ordinary, except to help host for the 15th anniversary of Project Row Houses' existence. Everyone that helped build this program and art-specified system pretty much showed up if they were available. The art was great, the children loved the outside, and best of all, I got paid for my toiling. Then I saw what I thought was something unbelievable and soul-shaking. At least to me. Corey, Cody, his brother, and his friend, Quincy. Walking towards my direction. But I didn't see the ex (Corey and Cody's mother), her new man, and most importantly, my sunshiny happiness in a sweet girl's form, Chloe. When I did see her, I was paralyzed, literally, in my position. My heart raced, and my hands tightened. She saw me, and that was about as far as we could share happiness. A few feet away.

It was so bad, that her eyes were saying "Remember me? Give me a hug, or call my name. at least!). Could she read my mind, saying "I miss you, babygirl! It's okay to give me a hug."

Seeing who I consider as still my Goddaughter, (regardless of circumstance) , Chloe, I was torn beyond repair. Not to give her a giant hug. Not to let her ride atop my shoulders like I used to when we'd go shopping or to the park. Anywhere for that fact. Not to look at her drawings and talk about her dreams that inspired them. Not to see her smile and not feel uncomfortable doing so, due to her mom and her new beau walking around, and not my hands holding her mother anymore.

Seeing Corey and Cody was just as difficult, staring at the boys, growing up, being their silly selves. Hell, I even missed Quincy, Corey's friend. In fact, that's who I saw first. Corey and Quincy. I thought I was hallucinating. I thought my dreams were coming to fuck with my head again. Instead, the dreams that I've been having in rapid succession have become reality. Just different scenery, and a slightly changed scenario.

I sensed that Corey didn't want to tell me about what I already knew, which was his mother getting engaged to her long-awaited-but-profusely-denied-truth-of-who-she-really-wanted-forever husband-to-be. I also sensed that Cody wanted to tell me as a secret in my ear, but Corey, knowing me like a book, prevented him from doing so. Maybe he wanted to tell me something different. maybe that his mother's new man was here. Maybe that she secretly said something to him and it's burning his ears to hold. However, I don't have the spirit to stomach news of anything else, except on how the children were doing.

Which set me well...
Temporarily.

I instantly called my sweetheart in confusion on what to do. i didn't want to see "her" nor "his" face, definitely. However, I was doubled over in pain and anticipation on seeing Chloe. NUMEROUS times she wanted to come talk to me. She even pointed to me several times to her new friends and strangers. Most likely, to let everyone know I was her godfather. I miss it when she called me "dad".

This is painful to type.

I was welling up with tears talking to Corey, hearing about his struggles with Algebra (I'd help him in math, always), his voice cracking and varying, his excitement of meeting me today, on his birthday, because it was some type of psychic feeling he had. He said he felt that it wouldn't be the last time I'd see him. I'm split on that. Honestly, I didn't expect the "family" to show up here. I didn't wish that. I actually just wanted to talk to them and see how they were doing, and I even sent their mother a message through the text and email to wish them well. I got a lot more than what I asked for. I questioned him about if he'd thought he'd never see me again, and he threw that notion away immediately. I told him to be happy, if he already wasn't, for his mother getting engaged. He was focused on football, being a year away from high school, and definitely about the electric guitar and clothes information we were talking about. It was like old times, just rushed. The air was thick with awkwardness and a wanting to talk. Cody was a hard case to deal with after the first time his mother wanted me out...actually, several. He became stubborn and unresponsive, which that is an unhealthy and volatile Cody. His mother once called me back to talk to him, and we patched things up along with calming Cody down. The five of us always had meeting when things got out of hand, or when we wanted to have family time. Cody showed me how to skateboard -- no lie. He let me know that he was failing, (I'm hoping he's kidding, or lying heavily for attention, which isn't cool, but understandable), and constantly showed me a snail with some grass and wheatgrass in his bag. I loved how they always collect bugs and insects. No fear. Unlike their mother and anything small that crawls. I'd always laugh when she'd run away, or asked me to kill it.

This time, I felt like the one who was running. Escaping.

Everywhere I went, rather it was the installations, or the main two-story, I either saw the couple, or the children. Mainly, it was Corey and Quincy. One house I saw Chloe alone from the group, exited to the next one, saw Corey and Quincy in the next one, Cody outside jump roping, and narrowly avoided going into the same house as the ex and her man. Why was II like this again? Have I slipped back into a state of worthlessness? Was I not ready to face the change again? Or was it a prayer answered, but not recognized, or not exactly how I wished it to be? Corey and I shared a bond that young boys and "fathers" had that were unbreakable. He relayed his thoughts (on what obviously something told to him by his mother) to me, mentioning that (after I apologized to him for my imperfections) he understood that it was wanting to go out and be free. I was hurt by the comments that were said, cause that wasn't my deal with the family. I loved to be with them. Late night movies, evening bike rides, four-square, park walks, IHOP dinners or breakfasts, shopping (especially when it was just the boys), reading time, video games (I mean, I am a kid at heart when I'm with them), and how we all stuck around during Hurricane Ike and the madness that surrounded the Election. A funny moment came when my friend, Yvette, came over to talk with me and we conversed about the situation. She tried to coax me over there, and made a slight at if they were looking over here, or were trying to come over, that I should pretend to be her boyfriend. Hahaha! Nice one, although Yvette is a beautiful woman (@YvesStLapaint - Twitter), and her daughter absolutely loooooves some "Mr. Res" - (Ha!) , I felt obligated not to over-dramatize this. I wouldn't know if it did work though. That would include me asking if she and her new man were "ok".

I'm trying to wrap my head around seeing them so close to never. This may be the last time I get to see them. I pray not, but if so, then it was bittersweet. My boss even slipped in a comment, seeing if I was okay, after recognizing they were here. I mean, I pretty much walked out with them, only a few yards away from where the new couple were. I would have loved to hug Sunshine (Chloe), my Chlo-burger, I'd call her. I am terrified to see when she grows up and she may never recognize me, or for that fact, doesn't want to. Her laughter was so odd, but familiar. Her smile was always a deal breaker. She suckered me into a lot of things. Hell, her birthday is only a few days after mine. We even share our moods and excitements the same way. She didn't hesitate to tell everyone who I was to her. I think she didn't like to call me "Brother Res" (an adoptive name given to me by the Row House families), but she loved to call me dad. My final memory of her was of me seeing her skate (which she and her mother taught me...actually, Chloe did). But the lasting one will always be when she looked at me when a waitress asked her if I was her dad (cause we both had locks). Today, she had on her mother's purple jacket, and it was one of my faves. I liked when she wore it, seeing purple is my favorite color. I wonder if she still wears the shirt I got her for Christmas (they celebrated).

Of course, my ex and her new man greeted everyone we both knew and worked with. I don't think she wanted to come near me, however she conveniently found ways of walking towards my area...with him. She said she'd never come to Project Row Houses again, because she knew I was working here. She even asked me if I still worked there. Maybe it was time, because everything she wanted came to her, quickly. A possibility of a husband, career pay advancement, a new vehicle (even though that was so packaged with him), and maybe even a new house. The tarots that my friend, @khimmy_J read for me months ago, mentioned that I may secretly wish that she would fail in this relationship, and that would make the relationship between us strained in a possible mend of a future friendship. I was on automatic when I met some newer people, and even better, as one person, meditation, rituals, and a lot of Capoeira helped me push this ill feeling to the side. Seeing them only makes me think about why I should be happy.

I need to do more for me in order for me to be spiritually free. I cannot expect her to be miserable, even if it was a blame game. Miserable is still miserable. I don't want the children to forget me. I even told Corey I loved them, as he was the first and last one I saw as the "family" left. I wanted to cry again. I am happy that I got to hug him. Cody kind of felt odd. But as Chloe tried to approach me, all I could get was a smile from her. 5 feet apart from each other. staring at each other. Truthfully, I would give anything to have my Chloe with me. She feels like my first born. The involvement with children is integral in any relationship that has any. The female may take that as a plus, or a minus, depending on the situation.

When February comes, (more than likely the last time I would get to say "Happy Birthday" to anyone in that family, before she abruptly locks the door of history on me), I hope to hear or see Chloe. If I can just bargain that for fame or importance anywhere, I would give it up for my little girl. For any, or all of them.

For now, I will be going to sleep, with the notion that this may be the last time I dream, see, hear or even have the opportunity to reunite with them.

I love you Corey, Cody, and Chloe (Sasori, Yo-yo, and Sunshine).

I hope somewhere inside you still love me.

Dad - (Ifeanyi)

Thursday, October 8, 2009

(No) Ailment

My soul doesn't answer to sorrowful names
My eyes were not designed to hide shine behind Ray Bans and Oakleys
My hands couldn't possibly be pre-shaped to drape around Spalding and Wilson's balls
Naw
My feet cannot understand walking a mile in Jordan's shoes
My voice wasn't trained to sang too much soulful blues
Brown brothers weren't meant to be red with whip scars on backs, blood flow
Mother seeing alabaster and peach plowing her daughter so
No
My fingers misunderstand cotton and wheat constant picking
My beliefs see grief in a cross-colored, no pants, FUBU
Kani take a trip to Mecca without Lugs and Timbs?
Could I embrace my family when cuffs restrain my wrists,
Can't extend my limbs past the heavy burdened branches
That store my people dangling over the Banks of America
Cashed in to the Lord, forgive the tellers and give thanks
To sorrowful kinds, we hum hymnals and write rhymes
Graduating to better niggas in the worst of times
Saturating in central air when the heat was mine?
Never
I cannot shake the same hand that makes the same man of my hue
the blame of your spewed hatred
In tobacco-flavored words and snare and fife
Or go to war to fight for the coward trying to screw my wife
Or go to prison for delivering what you put me behind for life
I go to hell cause heaven seems to be so white
But wait
Now I'm a bigot, a bigger idiot, ignored bidder
Trying to buy, vying for my freedom, Mason-Dixoned on the Street of Walls
But my mind wrinkles while your iron fists remains hot
To try and smooth my thoughts when even my kinks dread you (k)not
Shit
My children haven't been poisoned by your longstanding happiness from our labors
My legacy precedes your dying dynasties predicting your destiny
My legs will not dash for your limp dick Olympic dream
My trinity wasn't a sausage party
My spirituality didn't involve crooked televangelists or choir directing fashionistas
My culture isn't oinking nor snorting, nor clucking
Like hell
My heart is beating my ribcage to work harder
In the heat of passion to exude the fire
To press on the desire in order to overturn the New World Order
My drink runneth over without diamonds and gems adorned on the chalice
My prayers haven't fallen on deaf ears, in fact, they are catching dropped calls
From your carrier
Your savior savoring silly Scuds and nuclear hors d'oeuvres
My teeth refuse to bite down on the piece of the American Pie
My hair stays locked up regardless if you try to lock us down
My tongue tastes knowledge of my ancestors' fruitful history
My nose swells to smell that African soil so insulin sweet
My ears can't hear you past my homeland's heartbeat
Your sound blast podcasts couldn't outlast my homeland's drumbeat
My buttocks couldn't be affixed to your hybrid/diesel car seats
My knees won't bend to live,
I would rather die standing than serving.
My mouth doesn't speak betrayal in many European or Latin languages
My body is not responding to this treatment
My system isn't worried about shutting down
No...
How about yours?


Saturday, September 12, 2009

Q & A Games

So last night we played the "What If..." game. It was interesting because what I thought would be said in an abnormal conversation (if there is such a thing with me) was all laid out. She admitted that I wasn't boring, and that she wanted to know more of me. More about me. My admiration for her increase daily, however, there looms an overwhelming feeling that there's going to be some type of rapid change that will smack either one of us square in the head. Speaking of which, I like to poke fun at her head, although it's the cutest :) But, I digress.

The strong emotions I feel are unreasonably growing through talking and building. The game we played brought up future children, relationship tooling, and location. I'm not entirely sure if this is a fantasy waiting to fuck me up royally in the end, or something that is a delayed reaction from painful experiences, into a blossoming revelation of happiness. Oya is right there between us. Our ancestors are right there circling us. It's almost like a tussle for trust. A rumble for real affection.

The "What If" game brought to my attention some things in her past and my past that weren't pretty by any means, but that was the beautiful thing about it. We were ugly in our living because of the energies we were allowing to occupy our souls at that time. It's scary not hearing her, not feeling her by me, not being able to see her everyday in my dreams. We share dreams like pizza, and wash them down with interpretations. This game brings out the best and worst in us, and we play it without hesitations on finishing. We take turns asking and answering "What If" questions like it is an inning in baseball. Better yet, if one of us doesn't have anything ready to ask, it's like a turnover in football, or basketball. Possession is held by the next person. Doubled up. No fouls given. No ejections. We laugh, we contemplate, and we definitely reflect.

That's what's scaring me. The last time I felt this happy, I ended up in a relationship that stung after the initial break-ups, and the final one was like a foot on my neck. From the outside looking in, it doesn't seem like she's looking for lofty goals, but I'm realizing that the more we spread out our desires, the less I am holding off the doubts. I don't like doubting. I don't like fear.

I am a night person...and also an early morning person as well. Hell, if I'm up, I'm up. I love talking (as you can tell) and reading poems and quotes to her. She asks me to sing, and yet I'm not the best person to belt one out. LOL Hell, I'm just singing because my momma sang. I love melody. This woman is putting it back in for me. I have my own tune. She likes it. Question is, "What If" I am not supposed to sing to her? Hell of a question, right? I'm so affixed on her, that I want to submerge my emotions inside of her abyss of pleasure. I sang for my ex a few times, but I never really thought she was receptive. She claimed she loved it. I only sing when I play Capoeira, or when I'm teaching the children in the program new corridos (shorter, verse-laden Capoeira songs) When I read my poems to her, she is seemingly floored. Most of my newer poems are inspired by her. A renewal of my spirit, of sorts. I honestly couldn't muster up a true poem for my recent ex, nor any one of my exes for that matter, because it never came. My inspiration (or muse) usually is not the one I'm seeing or trying to marry. Why the hell is that? As she would say, "We have to remedy that, right away."

We fall asleep talking to each other. We sometimes don't even sleep. If at all costs, we're constantly doing everything that we'd do daily, and just add each other into the equation along the way. One time we talked for 18 hours...I swear it felt like it. It effects our work and our thoughts at times, so we try convincing each other that we must go to sleep. I wish she would, so that way she could tell me more about her dreams. Hopefully, we'd meet inside of each other's dreams and share a bowl of blissful ice cream, you know. She claims that she had a dream eerily (or prophetically) about a person similar to me. I can't tell you if it was accurate or not, because what stopped me was the fact that the first letters of my first and last name (although reversed) matched the person in her dreams. Not to mention the fact that one name was Igbo, and the other was Yoruba. Oddly enough, I study Ifa, and my name is Igbo.

I love her writing. I wish she'd write more. It seems like a female version of my life, minus some horrific experiences that were placed upon her. I don't think I'd be alive, or out on bail if I went through that shit. Maybe it's something about women who've been through pain that attracts me to them, because I feel as if I have to redeem. I think I'll be bold enough to perfect my craft, just because she's not so restrained in telling her story. I should be so lucky to live through and be more confident. She gives me that confidence.

"What If" this is right? "What If" I'm choosing door number 3 in a fail?

Know what's funny? My ex's children had a game we all played called "Imaginiff".

"Imaginiff" (Imagine if) I actually stopped living in my head and started living for the now.

Is her heart the "now"?